


Experiences Lived

by rattrap (SquashlingChaotic)



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: D/s, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquashlingChaotic/pseuds/rattrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders and Fenris fight, and Anders agrees to be Fenris' slave for a week.  Fenris both enjoys and is disturbed by the experience.  </p><p>Established rivals-with-benefits Fenders, </p><p>Based off kinkmeme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/8832.html?thread=35358592#t35358592</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1, Part 1

It all starts when Anders moves in. To be honest, he's not even sure why he's moving in with Fenris. The only things they actually do well together are fight and fuck. When they aren't fighting spiders, slavers, dragons, or whatever other beastie Hawke's found, they fight each other. And sometimes they have sex. When they aren't fighting each other, it's nothing to complain about. When they are bickering--mindblowing is the only way to describe it.  
  
But too many templars have been sniffing around his clinic, and Fenris has space in his mansion, and, despite their profound ideological differences, he trusts Fenris not to sell him out. So he's moving in to a spare room, and they will try to maintain a fragile peace.  
  
At least, that's the plan until Fenris shoves an amulet in his face. "What is this, mage?" he hisses as his lyrium flares.  
  
Anders squints to identify it. "A Tevinter chantry amulet. It was a gift from Hawke."  
  
"Bring it back to your clinic." Fenris bristles, though his tattoos have stopped glowing. "It has no place in my house."  
  
"Isn't that overreacting a bit? It's just an amulet." Anders points out. "I can keep it in here. You'll never even have to look at it."  
  
"You cannot understand, mage." Fenris tells him. "The amulet leaves."  
  
"Oh, I see." Anders remarks. "It's one of those 'I was a slave' things, isn't it. Do you think I'd be happy if you had a templar shield in here? I wouldn't, but I'd--"  
  
Fenris shoves him backwards, cutting him off. "You know nothing of being a slave, Anders."  
  
Anders draws in a breath. When Fenris used his name in an argument, it usually meant they were getting close to the point when it dissolved in angry sex. He chooses his words carefully. "Really, I would think the time I spent in the circle should more than qualify me to speak of the experience."  
  
For a moment, Fenris pauses. Then he speaks. "If your time at the circle was truely slavery, then it is my belief you would feel as I do. But since I have no means by which to understand your experience, then let us make a wager. For the next five days, until Hawke goes adventuring again, you will wear this amulet. During that time, you will act, at all times and in all ways, as my slave. I will, to the best of my ability, see to it you truely understand what it means to be a slave. If you, at any time, remove the amulet, you may return to being a free man, but the amulet must leave this house and never return. If, at the end of five days, the amulet remains around your neck, you will not only be a free man, but may keep the amulet in the house, if you still wish to do so."  
  
Anders considers the possibilities. He has no wish to experience again what he did at the circle, and the amulet alone isn't worth it. However, the validation, to have Fenris see that, even after experiencing what Fenris considered slavery, he would describe the Circle as such...that would be worth it. "Very well." He agrees.  
  
Fenris nods, and hands him the amulet. He places it over his head.  
  
"Your name is Cain." Fenris tells him, turning away and leaving the room. "There's work to be done.  
  
Fenris leads him to a side room in the mansion, one they'd been in that first night, years ago, when he and Hawke and Varric had helped Fenris search the place for Denarius. I don't think he's been in here since then, Anders realized. Shade blood splatters still cover the walls, and his feet stick to the floor. Whether due to Denarius' lingering magic, or to the nature of shades, the gore has not rotted over the years, leaving the smell of death as heavy in the air as ever.  
  
"Clean it." Fenris tells him, gesturing to the room.  
  
He could do it fairly easily with his magic, but he has a feeling Fenris would beat him for it. "I will need supplies, master." He points out.  
  
Fenris backhands him anyway. "Down the hall, in the closet. I will be in my room. Do not disturb me until this one is habitable."  
  
"Yes, master." Anders bows his head, and waits for Fenris to leave.  
  
Instead, Fenris cuffs him again. "You do yourself no favors by looking submissive, Cain. I feed you for results, not appearances."  
  
Anders scurries out of the room for supplies.  
  
When he returns with the bucket full of water, Fenris is gone. That's fine. It gives him time to think as he scrubs the walls.  
  
 _This is unfamiliar._ He thinks. _I've certainly played the slave in games before, been instructed to perform menial tasks, collared, and even renamed. But the skills there, the making a show of my submission, that's not what Fenris wants. Even the templars were fine with a yes, ser, no ser, I'll-just-stand-here-and-look-pretty-while-you-give-me-orders ser. But not Fenris. He isn't interested in seeing me give in. I'll have to keep that in mind this week._  
  
He scrubs for a few more hours, his mind wandering elsewhere. He goes to dump and refill the bucket once, twice. he moves from one long wall to a shorter one. It dawns on him that he will not be done cleaning this room today. Perhaps he will not even be done tomorrow. Without magic to pull it away, the shade blood clings stubbornly to the surfaces its dried on, taking considerable effort to remove even small droplets from walls and paintings.  
  
He's only disturbed when Fenris enters to check his work. He observes the finished wall carefully.  
  
"It is...remarkable, how shade blood keeps hold of a thing once it has dried. It is the preferred substance in Tevinter for painting glyphs which need to last." He states, not turning from the wall. "I am headed out. Keep at work. If you must, you may stop to eat two rolls from the pantry."  
  
He departs.


	2. Day 1, Part 2

Fenris is unsure what he's gotten himself into. His goal was to show Anders what it meant to be a slave, to make him see how keeping a symbol of the Imperium in his house was an insult to all he had accomplished, that a _mage_ doing so only further served to symbolically piss on his hard-won freedom. Instead, he finds himself learning what it means to be a magister. He scowls at his mug of ale, wondering why he's come to the Hanged Man. While he may not appreciate the difference between wines, he does consider his late and former master's collection to be more drinkable than anything for sale in Lowtown.

Isabela plops down beside him. "Well, you're looking especially broody tonight. Did you and Anders fight over the arrangement of your furniture?"

Fenris scowls at her. "The mage insulted me, and I am unsure whether I seek to remedy the misunderstanding, or merely to avenge myself."

Isabela perks up “Is this the naked kind of vengeance? Because that’s usually a good call.”

“No.” Fenris slaps his hand on the table. “I have the mage doing a thing, and I dislike what it brings out in me.”

“And just what is is you have him doing that he’s so preoccupied he can’t come to the Hanged Man?” she asks.

“He’s wearing a Tevinter chantry amulet and scrubbing bits of dead shade off my walls.”

“Kinky.” Isabela smiles approvingly.

Fenris sighs. “It is not a sex game, Isabela. The mage was insensitive to my experiences, and so he is now living the life of a Tevinter slave, or as close as I can manage. It...troubles me, how easily I slip into the role of master.”

Isabela chuckles. “Fenris, that’s precisely a sex game. I’ve played it myself. Plenty of men and women all over Thedas get their rocks off through having power, or the lack thereof.”

Fenris considers the thought. Yes, he enjoyed hitting Anders, but it did not diminish the fact that it was a twisted, horrid thing. Though apparently a thing enjoyed by more people than merely magisters and ex-slaves. It is not a thought he wishes to ponder over the Hanged Man’s ale. “Thank you.” He told Isabela. “I should get home, but you have given me much to think about.”

\--

Fenris returns home splattered with blood, as per usual. Somehow, he always runs into thieves after dark. “Cain!” he yells. After a few moments, Anders appears. “Draw me a bath, and then clean my sword.” He leans the greatsword up next to his door, then realizes Anders can actually do something useful with his magic. “And heat the bath. Use your magic, if you must. I want it fast.”

He grabs a half-empty bottle of Aggregio Pavali from above the fireplace, and sits on his stairs to wait and to think. He’s fairly sure Isabela’s wrong about this. He wasn’t aroused by hitting Anders, he just felt--satisfied. Some part of him was glad, pleased that he got to hit the mage. It was a similar feeling to when he ripped Hadriana’s heart out, this feeling like Anders got what was coming to him. That, he reflects, is a bad thing to feel about someone you care about. Because he does. Care about Anders, that is. They aren’t friends, exactly, and they aren’t really lovers, either. They don’t talk about _feelings_. But sometimes they fight, and sometimes they have sex, and sometimes they do both. And he feels a particular loyalty to the mage.

Anders walks back into the room, and nods at Fenris. “Your bath is ready, master.”

Fenris gets up and heads off to his bath, not bothering to look at Anders. He will clean the sword, and being watched won’t exactly help the process.

\--

The hot bath is delightful. Fenris rarely bothers to heat his own bathwater over the fire, or even to draw a full bath. He scrubs off the blood, washes his hair, and finishes the bottle of wine, but feels compelled to linger longer in the warm water. He leans back against the side of the tub to soak, and finds his mind wandering to Anders again.

The mage is a better man than anyone else Fenris has met. He chooses to heal Kirkwall’s poor, which is more than Fenris can say for himself. The mercenary jobs he takes in between going adventuring with Hawke are not exactly charitable work. More often than not, the people he kills in his work are not the murderers and thugs he might wish, but common folk of Kirkwall who accidentally witnessed some noble’s indiscretions. It’s disgusting work, but it pays well enough.

Anders is also a fool. No matter how many thugs they take down with Hawke, no matter how many times he heals wounds inflicted by his patients own families, no matter how much evil he sees, the man still believes people are good. Usually, it’s an annoying trait, but in the case of mages, it is a dangerous folly.

Were all mages as well-meaning as Anders, he might be correct. Fenris will never admit it to anyone, but he has his concerns about the Circle. It is necessary, but it would also be far to easy for templars to abuse the mages under their charge. No one sees or cares about mages, locked away as they are, and the desire to enslave is not limited to those with magic, they are simply better equipped to do so.

Which, of course, leads back to what's eating at him. He seems to be one of those people. He enjoyed hitting Anders, and has no trouble treating him as a slave. Tonight, he knows, he will sleep fine in his bed while Anders has to curl up on the stone floor. If Anders acts improperly again tomorrow, Fenris will hit him again. Perhaps he will even beat him. And he will feel satisfied by it. The thought is disturbing. 


	3. Day 2, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter. The previous chapters have each been two kinkmeme posts smushed together for a less choppy read. Because of the arrangement of viewpoint swaps, this one's gonna be one kinkmeme post (Half-length). I tried to avoid it, but couldn't.

Anders wakes up curled at the foot of Fenris’ bed. It seems odd, but he recalls the events of the previous day, and gets up, slowly. He bites back a groan. His muscles are stiff from sleeping on the stone floor, but it would not do to wake Fenris. Nonetheless, he needs to get up. The clinic was closed yesterday because he was moving, but he needs to reopen it today. The slavery can wait until suppertime. 

The door creaks as he opens it, and he glances back to see if Fenris is still asleep. The elf is somewhere in the process of waking up, and is staring at Anders. His eyes dart to the amulet around Anders’ neck, and then back up to his face. 

“Bread will suffice for breakfast.” he says. “You may lay it out on the table downstairs. I need no assistance dressing.”

“Yes, master.” Anders nods. Just this one bit of work, and it’s hardly even work at all, and he can get down to the clinic.

As he’s finishing laying out the bread, Fenris wanders down. He glances at the food, then at Anders. He sits down and tosses Anders a roll, and tells him, “The room you scrubbed yesterday. I assume it still needs cleaning?” Anders looks at him blankly. “Do that, but first grease the hinges of my bedroom door. I dislike being awakened.”

“Master,” Anders speaks up. “I need to get to my clinic.”

Fenris glowers at him. “You do not have a clinic. The room needs cleaning. Do so.”

“There are people, in Darktown, and they’re counting on me to be there.” Anders points out.

“I own you.” Fenris states. “Therefore, I may allocate your talents as I choose. If I decide they are better spent cleaning my home than being given away to the poor and decrepit of the city, you have no say in the matter.”

Anders can scarcely believe his ears. Fenris actually intends to make him keep the clinic closed, probably all week. “Fenris,” he growls, stalking over to the table and leaning over it, over Fenris, “This is not a sport or a game. If you keep me here, _people will die._ ”

In one smooth motion, Fenris grabs his wrist, stands up and levers him around so the elf is behind him, breathing in his ear. “You should have thought of that before we made our bargain. I would not advise trying to leave. As it is, I will have to beat you, but you would further dislike the punishments for runaway slaves.”

And with that, Fenris lets him go and stalks off, presumably to find something to beat him with. 

Anders considers his options. He could make it all end, of course, take off the amulet and head to the clinic. It would, perhaps, be the right thing to do, to give up the arrangement so he can save lives. But giving up would more than signal the loss of the amulet. It would signal an admission that the circle is nothing like slavery, and the closure of any window through which the mage cause could gain legitimacy in Fenris’ eyes. And Fenris could be a powerful ally for the mages. An ex-slave, abused by blood mages, his own memories taken from him by mages, acknowledging the the circle is unjust and standing against the templar blades...He must complete the week. For the greater good.


	4. Day 2, Part 2

Fenris isn't sure what he has to beat Anders with. In all honesty, he doesn't even particularly want to beat Anders. He knows he'll enjoy it, and he knows he shouldn't. He should not enjoy controlling Anders, not enjoy hitting him. He expected this week to be a chore, that hitting Anders would be another thing he had to do, like going down to the cellar to fetch another bottle when he ran out of wine. He shouldn't feel satisfied by it. 

But nonetheless, he can't get out of giving Anders a beating. Anders tried to leave, then argued with Fenris. For that, a Magister would beat Anders to within an inch of his life, and hope he pulled through so he didn't have to buy a new slave. This is not an option. Fenris is very, very good at killing people, but has little idea of how much you can hurt them and still leave them alive. He also wishes to avoid having Anders endure an extended convalescence, since he only has a few more days of this. 

Though the mage is a healer. He can use that. Now to find something to beat him with. He sifts through the pile of junk on the stairs. A broken sword--no. A statue--no. A pair of torn trousers--no, and how did that get here? A bag of pebbles--no. The painting--he considers for a moment, then breaks of a side of the landscape's frame. He experiments, hitting the statue a few times. It doesn't break. 

"Cain!" He yells. After a moment, Anders jogs into the room, then stops to look at him, his face unreadable. 

"I intend to beat you." Fenris tells him. "You attempted to leave, and were insolent rather than obedient." Anders nods, and he continues. "Remove your shirt and face the statue. You may want to lean on it." Again, Anders complies, leaning over the statue and wrapping his arms around it for support. Fenris wonders if he's been beaten before, but explains, "I have never done this before. Ensure I do not kill you, but do not stop me before then."

"Upper back" Anders grunts. 

"What?" Fenris asks, unsure what he means. 

"Aim for my upper back. If you hit my lower back, you could damage a kidney." He clarifies. 

"Thank you." Fenris states, and begins. 

The first few strokes are too light, as he adjusts to swinging the makeshift batten. He shifts his grip and swings harder, satisfied when Anders lets out a grunt in pain. He continues, keeping a slow but steady rhythm. It would not to wear himself out early. After a minute or two, red marks begin to appear on Ander's skin. He feels, for a moment, proud. He put those marks there. Then, revulsion and disgust kick in. 

_Dear Maker, what am I doing? He thinks. How can I have pride in_ this _? I'm beating my traveling companion with a piece of wood for wanting to heal refugees. I've never been as good a man as Anders, but this--_

He cuts himself off. Guilt will not help him. This must be done. He speeds up and hit Anders harder. His speed increases steadily. And some point, an edge, rather than the flat, of the piece of wood hits Anders, and a thin line of blood blossoms on his back. Fenris adjusts his grip to correct the slippage, and returns to beating Anders, harder than before. 

After what seems like an eternity of steady blows and harsh grunts, Anders releases the statue and slides to the floor. He lays there as Fenris observes him. The statue's horns had dug into his chest leaving behind and angry red imprint of their texture. Tears streak Anders' face--the mage had been crying? Fenris would not have known. 

"You'll live?" He checks with the mage. 

"A couple of cracked ribs, but I'll survive." Anders replies.

"Excellent." Fenris states. "Return to work. I am headed out. I will be back by supper."

\--

Fenris really needs a drink. Not only is he still kicking himself over how he enjoyed beating Anders, his job today went south in the worst possible way. Instead of successfully guarding a shop, he'd been away from the shop, killing orphans (who, to be fair, he thought were thieves) to collect their ears for his employer, while the merchant in question was being robbed and murdered. Everything has gone wrong, and he needs to drink until he stops wondering if he's closer to a monster than a man. 

He hangs his sword on the wall, and yells "Cain!" After a minute, Anders walks in, panting short, sharp, shallow breaths. Excellent. The mage has not healed himself yet. The punishment has made its point. 

"Fetch me two bottles of Aggregio Pavali, and clean my sword." Fenris orders him, sitting on his stairs. 

Anders nods, and sets off for the cellar, at a stilted walk. 

"Hold." Fenris says. "Is it your ribs slowing you down?"

Anders nods again. "The bruising is uncomfortable, but it's the ribs that make it hard to breathe, and means I can only exert myself so much."

"You may heal your ribs." Fenris states. "Not the bruising--I intend for this lesson to stick--but you're of little use to me like this."

"Thank you, master." Anders says. His hand glows blue as he rests in on his ribs for a moment. He closes his eyes, draws in a deep breath, exhales, and opens them again. "I'll have your wine shortly." He dashes off, his gait still stiff, but far less labored. 

When Anders returns, Fenris sets one bottle on the stairs, and removes the cork from the other. He drinks straight from the bottle, several mouthfuls before setting it down. He gestures to Anders to come over. 

"Sit here." Fenris points to the floor, a few feet away from him. 

Anders walks over, carrying Fenris' sword and a cleaning rag. He sits down and resumes wiping the sword clean, paying special attention to getting all the blood out of the enravings. Fenris watches, continuing to intermittently swallow a few mouthfuls of wine. 

When about half a bottle is gone, Fenris speaks again. "Tell me a story." He demands.

"Pardon?" Anders looks up. He's finished cleaning the sword, but has been staring at the floor instead. 

"A story. I am bored and require entertainment." Fenris explains, before drinking more wine.

"My stories aren't any good, Master." Anders states. 

"You could dance instead." Fenris suggests, then recalls something. "On second thought, no. Varric has been bothering me about my thoughts on his latest. Go to my room, fetch _Hard in Hightown, Vol 6_ , and read it to me."

Anders nods and gets up. Fenris attempts to lean back on the stair to get more comfortable. He's starting to feel a more than a bit tipsy, and is fast on the road to solidly drunk. No matter which way he shifts, a stair pokes into his back. So he finishes off his first bottle, grabs the second, and begins to stumble towards his bedroom. 

As he reaches the top of the stairs, Anders meets him. An arm wraps around him--Anders' arm, he realizes, as the mage escorts him back to his room. The mage deposits him on his bed, and, with a flash of lyrium, he's opened the second bottle of wine. He really doesn't need it, but figures he'll drink half of it anyways. It's here, after all. 

Anders sits on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed, and begins to read. Like the earlier books Isabela summarized for him, it's a fictional account of the adventures of a barely disguised Garrett Hawke and his associates. Most of the adventures are the bedroom sort. This particular volume begins with the fictional Aveline bedding the novel's Isabela. The setup is sketchy at best--Aveline corners Isabela commiting some incredibly vague crime, and demands sex in return for letting her go--and Fenris is almost certain Varric has taken liberties with some of the acts depicted--he strongly suspects not even Isabela, with her many, many interests, would be screaming in pleasure with a fist up her ass. He drinks more wine as Anders continues to the next chapter.


	5. Day Two, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Sorry. It's how it broke down.

Chapter 2 of _Hard in Hightown, Vol. 6_ is a scene between a poorly-disguised Anders, and an even-more-poorly disguised Fenris. Anders knows, because it's one of his favorites. For all that the other groupings in Volume 6 are haphazard and implausible, except for a few details, he'd swear Varric had written the scene after watching them fuck. 

"Sanders was closing up his clinic in Lowtown when Fennris--that's with two 'N's, by the way--entered. 'Healer.' He said. 'You wanted to see me.'

"'Yes.' Sanders said. 'Though I intended for you to come during working hours. I could use your help.'

"'I'm not a healer.' Fennris told him. 'And I refuse to help you with amputations.'

"'Fennris. You could be such a help.' Sanders argued. 'Think of all the lives you could save.'

"'And what kind of a lives would they be? A cripple cannot _work_ , Sanders. A clean death is better than a life of starving and begging.' Fennris told him. 

"'There are plenty of things to make a life worth living, even without a limb.' Sanders argued. 'There's the morning breeze, the sun on your skin, a lover's caress.'

"'The sun burns, and the breeze smells of fish.' Fennris said. 

"'And what of sex?' Sanders asked, eyeing the elf. 'Is that not worth living for?'

"'It is all too often used to hurt.' Fennris stated.

"'I would not hurt you, were we to lie together.' Sanders stepped toward Fennris. 

"The elf moved forward in a flash, shoving the healer against a wall. 'No.' He whispered into his ear. 'It would be me who hurt you.'

"Sanders slid his hands along Fennris' ribcage. 'That's fine with me.'"

Anders pauses, distracted by a rustling above his head. It stops, and he continues. "Fennris kissed Sanders roughly, his tongue plundering the blonde's mouth. The healer practically melted against him, wrapping his arms around him and drawing him in closer. After a minute or so of heated kissing, the elf pulled away and began to roughly tug off Sanders' robes. The healer returned the favor, peeling away Fennris' armor. 

"Once Fennris had the healer standing naked before him, he moved in again to bite along his neck. Sanders moaned softly, digging his fingers into the elf's back. The elf responded by reaching in to pinch Sanders' nipple. He yelped in pain, but Fennris felt him harden in response. He pinched again, and moved his head down to toy at the other nipple with his teeth."

Anders hears Fenris sigh, and turns around. Fenris has stripped off his pants, and is stroking himself. He doesn't seem to notice that Anders has stopped reading, so the mage doesn't resume, but watches Fenris instead. Once in a while, the elf slides his hand all the way along his length, but he spends most of his time circling and toying with the tip of his cock. His lips curl with sensation and he switches to sliding his hand along the few inches of his cock nearest the tip. His breathes roughly, and comes with a small spurt of white fluid. Without addressing Anders, he rolls over to sleep. 

Anders sets down the book and curls up by the foot of the bed. He shifts and rolls but can't get comfortable. His back is sore, the floor is hard, and he keeps thinking about how Fenris jerked off. 

It shouldn't bother him, really. When he was with the Wardens, in the Deep Roads, it wasn't often safe to wander far from the camp. As a result, you got used to the idea that every so often, you hear your comrades have sex, or to wander around camp and stumble across somebody having some 'alone time.' You got used the idea that people did things around you, and you weren't always involved. 

But it does bother him. Because Fenris didn't just jerk off with him in the room. He did so without acknowledging his presence at all. No "Give me a hand with this," and not even a "You can sleep, I'm going to masturbate now." It was like he was furniture, not even a person. He'd expected to spend the week being submissive and obedient, but he'd never imagined Fenris would treat him like a tool.


	6. Day 3, Part 1

Anders wakes up stiff and sore, to the sound of Fenris groaning. He gets up with a groan of his own, and watches Fenris. The elf opens an eye slightly than squinches both shut and rolls over to bury his face in a pillow.  
  
"Can I help you, master?" Anders asks.  
  
"I have a headache. Go away. Clean that room or something." Fenris mutters.  
  
This won't do. Fenris is suffering, and he can fix it. His hand glows blue, and he reaches over to fix Fenris' hangover. The elf reaches out and grabs his wrist. Before he can quite process what's going on, he's on the bed with Fenris above him, and Fenris' hand stuck in his chest and wrapped around his heart.  
  
"Give me a reason why I shouldn't crush this here and now." Fenris says.  
  
Anders opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. Fenris' face is cold and deadly. This would be a very bad time for a witty remark.  
  
"Give me a reason." The elf repeats.  
  
Anders tries to think, but his mind's pretty much a blank. The imminent threat of having your heart crushed tends to shut down pretty much everything but the here and now. Still though, he manages to croak out the one word that might save him. "Hawke."  
  
Fenris scowls. "True. But let us be clear. If you were truly a slave, if not for Hawke and our friends, you would be dead. Slaves do not use magic without their masters position. To attempt to do so, and on your master, no less, is ask--" He stops suddenly, as if distracted by a thought. He jerks back (thankfully leaving Anders heart both uncrushed and in its proper location), disgusted. He looks away for a moment, then back to Anders. He leaps off the bed and points at the door. "Get out."  
  
Anders obeys, and Fenris slams the door shut, leaving him in the hallway, shocked and bewildered. _What had disgusted Fenris so much it made him kick me out?_ He wondered. _Enough to make him stop threatening my life and--wait. He was threatening my life. Maybe I should be more worried about th--_ "  
  
His train of thought is disturbed by the sound of pottery crashing. Fenris is clearly quite upset, and the elf has never been known for his rationality in emotional situations. While he's definitely more the type to destroy everything he owns--as the crash of a chest hitting a wall confirms--than to hurt himself, Anders knows he should get in there and stop him before he wrecks something he cares about. Of course, there is the slight problem that if he reenters as-is, he's more than likely to be greeted with a fist around his heart again. So Anders takes a deep breath, removes the Tevinter amulet, and steps back inside.  
  
As soon as Anders enters, Fenris whirls to face him, ignoring the empty wine bottle he's just thrown as it smashes against the wall. Instead, his eyes glance first to Anders' chest, taking in the fact that he's removed the amulet, then up to his face, searching.  
  
"Fenris." Anders says simply.  
  
"Anders." A pause. "You do not hate me." Fenris observes.  
  
"No." He replies. "I'm worried about you."  
  
"Why do you not hate me?" The elf asks.  
  
"Why would I?" Anders asks in return.  
  
"Because I beat you. Because I treated you as a slave, as a nothing. Because when you tried to heal me, I threatened your life." Fenris explains.  
  
"Fenris, you did all of these things because of our arrangement. Why would I hate you for that?"  
  
"Because I _enjoyed it_." The elf hisses. "Because I felt this sick satisfaction whenever I saw you hurting or scared."  
  
"Oh." Anders frowns briefly. That...makes sense, actually. He can see how Fenris might mistake enjoying their arrangement for the desire to enslave. "I see. Fenris, can we sit down? I feel like this is going to be a long conversation."  
  
"Very well." Fenris seats himself cross-legged on the bed, gesturing for Anders to join him. The mage reclines on his side, propping himself up with one arm.  
  
"Thank you." He says. "Now, before I explain specifically why I don't hate you for this morning and the last two days, I need you to answer a question for me: when we have sex, what makes it not rape?"  
  
Fenris scowls for a moment, thinking. "Because we both want it?" He asks.  
  
"Not precisely." Anders replies. "That's a part of it, but it's not the crux of the matter. What would happen if, one day, I told you no?"  
  
"I wouldn't--" Fenris pauses, as it dawns on him. "That's it, isn't it? We can each tell the other to stop, and we will."  
  
"Precisely." Anders reaches out with his free hand, and holds one of Fenris', intertwining their fingers. "What would you have done yesterday if I'd taken off the amulet, told you to piss off, and left for the clinic?"  
  
"I'd have gone to work, brought home a dinner to share, and made fun of how much you care about those refugees." Fenris replies, almost instantly.  
  
"And what did you do when I told you to stop beating me?" Anders prompts.  
  
"I stopped." Fenris seems almost surprised at his answer.  
  
"And last night, when you were jerking off, if I'd stood up, removed the amulet, and demanded you pay attention to me?"  
  
"Even as as drunk as I was," Fenris admits, "I'd have at least tried to fuck you."  
  
"And when I came in here," Anders says, "you immediately addressed me by name, and treated me like a person again. It seems to me I could have called it quits at any time, so why should I hate you?"  
  
"Because I enjoyed it." Fenris says. "Regardless of whether you could have stopped it or not, I enjoyed hurting you. I am...fond of you, Anders, and decent people don't enjoy hurting those they care about."  
  
Anders sighs. _That's_ the problem, then. "That is, largely, true." He admits. "But not always. Some people enjoy being hurt, and agree to have their lovers hurt them. Some even enjoy living as we have these past few days."  
  
"They get pleasure out of slavery? That's disgusting!" Fenris exclaims.  
  
"It's not real slavery, Fenris." Anders explains. "It's pretend, and they can call it off at any time. They, and their partners, enjoy it."  
  
"You do not." Fenris notes his choice of wording.  
  
"It's not especially pleasurable for me, at least--" Anders cuts himself off. "I considered these past few days an education in Tevinter slavery, and nothing more."  
  
"Then where do we go from here?" Fenris asks. "You do not enjoy being hurt, and I--what do we do?"  
  
"We have options." Anders smiles. "I am--fond of you, too, and would hate to see our time together ended by something as simple as a difference in desires."  
  
"Options." Fenris repeats. "Explain."  
  
"Well," Anders says, "First off, we can ignore the past few days. You have enjoyed being with me before, and you are somewhat uncomfortable with hurting me, so it may be for the best."  
  
"Perhaps." Fenris agrees.  
  
"Or," Anders continues, "We could try to compromise. Just because I'm not especially aroused by being controlled and hurt doesn't mean I'm unwilling to do so. And there's a lot of things we can do in that vein that you might be more comfortable with. Things that don't involve treating me like a slave, or even hitting me."  
  
Fenris considers. "I will need to think on this."  
  
"I would expect no less." Anders says, then sighs. "But I suspect we both have things to do today. I need to go open the clinic, and you have--whatever it is you do."  
  
"True." Fenris squeezes his hand, then gets up.


	7. Day 3, Part 2

When Anders returns home (It's funny, how _Fenris's Mansion_ has so quickly turned in _home_ in his mind.), Fenris is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, with his Tevinter chantry amulet in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.  
  
"You forgot this." Fenris says, lifting the amulet to make it clear what he's talking about.  
  
"Shit, Fenris." Anders replies. "I'm so sorry. I was caught up in talking to you, and then I had the clinic on my mind, and I just--forgot. I'll take it down to the clinic in the morning, I swear."  
  
Fenris mumbles something both incomprehensible and noncommital, then says, "Come here. Drink with me."  
  
Anders goes over and sits beside him. He's pretty sure this is the first time Fenris has actually offered to share his wine. He takes the bottle, and notes that it's mostly full--Fenris hasn't been waiting long, then.  
  
The two sit in silence for a while, taking a sip and passing the bottle. Fenris wraps his arm around Anders, and he leans against Fenris' shoulder. After a long moment, Fenris speaks.  
  
"It occurs to me," He says, "that you only lost our arrangement because you were concerned about me. It seems unfair."  
  
"I don't regret it." Anders says. "To be honest, I'd do it again."  
  
"I know." Fenris says. "It just seems unfair that you should lose because of my issues."  
  
"If it helps," Anders says, "I wouldn't keep it in this house now, even if you offered to let me."  
  
"You wouldn't?" Fenris sounds suspicious.  
  
"What you said this morning, Fenris, that good people don't hurt those they care about, I've been thinking about it all day. I care about you, and if keeping the amulet here is going to hurt you, I should respect that."  
  
A long pause. "Thank you." Fenris says. They sit in silence again.  
  
"Maybe I should have in melted down." Anders suggests, after a minute.  
  
"What?" Fenris asks, jolted out of his own thoughts.  
  
"Maybe I should have the amulet melted down." Anders says. "I can't wear it, and I'd have to keep it at the clinic. As is, the only thing it can do is cause trouble for me. I could have the perfectly good metal salvaged and cast into something I could wear in public."  
  
"A good idea." Fenris says. He takes a sip from the wine and passes it to Anders. The mage takes a sip himself, then sets it aside.  
  
"Have you given more thought to our discussion this morning?" He asks.  
  
"Yes." Fenris replies.  
  
"And?" Anders prompts him. "Have you decided anything?"  
  
Fenris sighs. "For now, we carry on as we have. We may consider other activities in the future."  
  
"All right." Anders sits up a bit and twists to look at him. "I'm glad you're not writing those desires out of the picture completely."  
  
"Why?" Fenris asks, meeting his gaze. "You have already said you don't enjoy them. I would think you would be relieved."  
  
"Because I'm a healer." Anders says. "Denial far too often leads to whores, which leads to trips to the healer."  
  
"I see." Fenris says. "I assure you, should I want to act on my desires, whatever they may be, I will go to you, and not the Blooming Rose."  
  
 _It's not the saccharine declaration of love Varric would write._ Anders muses. _But it's something._ He leans over and kisses Fenris. The elf responds eagerly, wrapping his arm around Anders and slipping his tongue into the mage's mouth.  
  
After a moment, Anders pulls back. Fenris looks confused for a moment, then smiles as Anders shifts to straddle his lap. He sits up and wraps both his arms around Anders, pulling him in for another kiss. These kisses are different from those they've had in the past. While Fenris still kisses him with a sense of purpose, these are slower, more leisurely about reaching their ultimate conclusion, perhaps because, for once, Fenris is not also trying to rid him of his robes as quickly as possible. It's a warm feeling, close. He'd say _intimate_ , but they don't do _intimate_. They don't do feelings.  
  
He slides his lips away from Fenris', down to his neck, right below his jaw. Fenris groans as he licks, kisses, and nibbles his way back toward an ear, and he feels himself harden in response. He licks along one pointed ear, catching the tip between his teeth and tugging at it. Fenris growls, and he lets go and pulls away. The elf is smiling, the bastard, and tugs him in for another kiss.  
  
And then Fenris' lips are on _his_ neck, and it's his turn to sigh with pleasure. After a bit, the elf starts trying to unbuckle his robes, and his has to speak up. "Fenris, we should probably go upstairs."  
  
The elf pulls back for a moment, then kisses him again, briefly. "You're right." He admits. "Let's move."  
  
Anders pries himself off Fenris’ lap, and heads up the stairs. By the time he reaches the top, Fenris catches up, and he presses him against the wall next to his bedroom door, leaning in for a kiss.  
  
Anders laughs and puts a finger over Fenris’ lips. “Perfectly good bed, right inside.” He reminds the elf.  
  
Fenris sighs and pulls him into the bedroom, pushing him gently towards the bed. Anders sits and begins to remove his robes, but Fenris pulls his hands away and replaces then with his own. Usually, they remove their own clothes for the sake of speed, but Fenris seems interested in making sure they take their time tonight.  
  
He kisses Anders again once he’s undone the buckles, then gets out of the way so Anders can slip the robes off. That accomplished, Anders lays down beside Fenris and kisses him briefly before starting to remove the elf’s armor.  
  
Piece by piece, he tugs off Fenris’ armor. Twice, Fenris stops him to point out a buckle he’s missed. Both times, he thanks him with a kiss. After what seems like an absurd number of pieces, Fenris, too, is finally naked.  
  
The elf pushes Anders onto his back and climbs on top of him. He kisses him gently, running his hands along his chest. Anders catches one of his hands and places it on a nipple. He squeaks as Fenris pinches him, then rolls them both over.  
  
With Fenris beneath him, Anders has the upper hand, for the moment. He moves his lips down to lick at the lyrium lines along Fenris’ collarbone. The elf moans and ruts against him as he traces those lines down toward his navel. Fenris puts a hand on the back of his head for a moment, then moves it to hold his hand.  
  
He licks past Fenris’ navel, then takes the tip of the elf’s cock into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the tip, glancing up to watch his face. Fenris moans again and squeezes his hand tightly, so he switches to moving his mouth over his cock, not wanting the elf to come too soon.  
  
Fenris tangles his fingers between Anders’, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Anders watches as his face contorts with pleasure, savoring his gasps. After a few minutes, Fenris tugs on his hand. Anders pulls up and away, wishing he could continue. Instead, he rests his head on Fenris’ chest, idly rubbing one of the elf’s nipples. Fenris’ hands lay on his lower back, keeping him close.  
  
“What now?” Anders asks.  
  
Fenris bites his lip. “I’d like you in me.”  
  
Anders furrows his brow. “I thought you said you didn’t--”  
  
“I want to at least try.” Fenris says.  
  
“Very well.” Anders lifts himself, first moving up to kiss Fenris, then down again. Silently thanking the maker for practical magics, he casts a quick grease spell and slides a finger over Fenris’ asshole. The elf doesn’t stiffen in response, so he eases the finger in.  
  
The elf is tight--almost too tight. “Relax.” he tells Fenris, kissing a line of lyrium along the inside of his thigh. He curls his finger to press at his prostate, smiling as Fenris swears softly in Tevinter. “Good?” He asks, slipping his spare hand down to stroke himself.  
  
He slides his finger in Fenris back and forth, growing harder as the elf begins to utter a stream of phrases in Tevinter. He slips in a second finger, moaning as Fenris curses. He thrusts again with his fingers.  
  
Fenris moans, the lifts his head. “You. Now.” He says, in Common, before moaning again as Anders hits his prostate again.  
  
“Very well.” Anders pulls his fingers out and moves up, then flips them again, so Fenris is on top of him.  
  
“Ah.” The elf nods, recalling the position from the nights Anders has spent riding _his_ cock. He struggles to line himself up over Anders’ cock. After a few attempts that end with him sitting on Anders’ stomach, he mutters “fuck it.” and flips them back over.  
  
Anders chuckles, but takes over, slowly sliding his cock into Fenris. The elf moans, and it’s all he can do not to come right then and there. As it is, once he’s fully sheathed, he pauses until Fenris orders him to “Move, damnit!”  
  
He thrusts a few times, and Fenris moans again, and then he’s coming, breathless and messy, and _way, way_ too soon.  
  
“Shit.” he whispers “So much for that Grey Warden stamina.”, as he pulls out and slips his fingers back into Fenris’ asshole, thrusting against his prostate as he moves down and takes the elf into his mouth.  
  
Fenris doesn’t seem to mind, thank the Maker. He tangles his hand in Anders’ hair, and continues moaning softly with each thrust of Anders’ hand. His moans grow louder, and all too soon give way to a shout as his tattoos flash, and he comes, hot and salty, with just the slightest tantalizing hint of lyrium, in Anders’ mouth. Anders swallows and shifts up again, laying on his side to curl around Fenris.  
  
They lay there for a quiet moment as Anders absentmindedly traces the lyrium lines on Fenris’ chest, savoring the closeness.  
  
Finally, Fenris speaks. “So,” he says, “I take it I should be quieter?”  
  
“If you want me to last long enough to fuck you properly, yes.” Anders admits. “Knowing what I’m doing feels that good for you, it really turns me on.”  
  
“You made up for it well.” Fenris runs his hand through Anders’ hair. At some point, he must have lost his tie.  
  
He makes a mental note to find it in the morning, then nestles closer, draping his arm all the way over Fenris’ chest, closing his eyes.  
  
“We would sleep better under the covers.” Fenris notes dryly.  
  
“Mmhm.” Anders doesn’t move.


End file.
